


To the End

by eyemeohmy



Category: Darkwing Duck (Cartoon 2018), DuckTales (Cartoon 2017)
Genre: Blood and Torture, Character Study, Discussions of Violence and Torture Oh My, Gen, Headcanon, Mild Profanity, Reimagining, Torture, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-04
Updated: 2019-06-04
Packaged: 2020-04-07 21:53:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,832
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19093849
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eyemeohmy/pseuds/eyemeohmy
Summary: Darkwing Duck is reunited with Jim Starling. Except he's not quite Jim anymore...





	To the End

**Author's Note:**

> _When St. Canard is ashes, you have my permiss_ ANYWAY
> 
> I wanted to write a follow-up piece to Drake adapting to the life of a (super)hero, as well as Negaduck getting his revenge with a little torture. I tried to keep the piece a reasonable PG rating, while still throwing in a little R rated spice. And while I listed no pairings, and you can easily read this as gen, Drake and LP are totally husbands.
> 
> Dedicated to Java, who let me ramble about my fic ideas and supports my horrible sadomasochism.
> 
> Title comes from [To The End by Elliphant](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WKRsRrbBXlI). I listened to it a lot while writing/proofreading this, and hey, it fits the story well enough. Ish. I guess. LISTEN, HEROES WERE INVOLVED.
> 
> Please pardon any grammatical errors (and/or OOC moments), thank you kindly.
> 
> For the prequel/sequel, see [Emperor's New Clothes](https://archiveofourown.org/works/19261060).

After the studio disaster and cancellation of the Darkwing Duck reboot film series, Drake Mallard spent a few more weeks in the spotlight as a guest on numerous media news outlets to share his opinions on aforementioned losses, as well as the mysterious disappearance of Jim Starling. Eventually the talk died down, Drake was given his check for the work he'd done, and the search for Jim was officially called off.

It'd been two months, three weeks, six days, and eighteen hours since Drake Mallard assumed the role of Darkwing Duck, flesh, blood, and all. And while he expected the life of a vigilante to be a risky one, he'd yet to really take on any criminals beyond petty thieves, purse snatchers, and trespassing graffiti artists. 

Drake wasn't in the business for the glamour (well, maybe a little) but the few news articles written about him cast him as a "kind, generous fellow with somewhat unsettling eccentric tendencies." They were backhanded compliments--thank you for being a good Samaritan, but you should probably seek psychiatric help. With Duckburg's law enforcement and veteran crime fighters, the big city was suddenly too small for another superhero.

Still, Drake didn't mind doing what he could. Darkwing would do the same; no matter how big or small the crime, he'd see justice would be done. Drake worked hard, and often came back to his apartment sore and sporting new (and thankfully, small) injuries. "Always get back up," he told himself while popping his shoulder back into its socket.

Drake spent a while retouching his suit, as well as gathering a one-man arsenal of weapons. Fortunately, Drake just so happened to own actual props from the old show, including a grappling gun, as well as functional, working fan-built copies that sold for a pretty penny. The fictional Darkwing Duck was resourceful and apparently had the funding to build and buy all his own stuff, from weapons to customized vehicles.

Drake Mallard... did not. 

He didn't have a jet, but he did have a motorbike. Launchpad was apparently working on something just for him, but was insistent on keeping it a surprise (although all his hints pretty much gave away his project--indeed, a jet--but Drake played along, grateful for the support and supplies). In the meantime, Drake would get around on his souped up motorcycle. A far cry from the original Ratcatcher, but with enough flair to get the point across and stir up older fan nostalgia.

It would be nice, Drake thought to himself, if Launchpad could join him. A sidekick, a partner. He may not be the brightest bird, but he knew how to fight--and how to fly. Although, for some reason, Drake doubted his piloting skills. But if Launchpad said he was a professional, Drake would believe him.

Drake's career as an upcoming actor was short-lived, and aside from needing money for rent and other important necessities, Darkwing Duck also needed it to keep up maintenance on... well, everything. But even with all the odds against him, Drake was fortunate enough to find a nice, slightly above average paying job working as a telemarketer salesman for a company that sold beauty and vitality products. Not idealistic, but realistic is what Drake needed. He mostly got antsy being trapped in a cubicle among a maze of others, phones constantly ringing off the hook, everyone so drawl and tired and dead inside.

Exercise well, eat well; work hard, "play" hard. Why, just yesterday he had to climb a rather large tree near some electrical lines to rescue a little girl's semi-feral, very bite-happy cat. And after he returned the pet to the girl, he went to a phone booth to call City Hall about trimming or transplanting the tree somewhere else, away from the power lines, as this was hazardous and very dangerous to the public's safety. 

"And I know dangerous," Darkwing declared proudly, "I _am_ Darkwing Duck, after all!" Then he hung up.

Drake was reprimanded at work by his superior for nodding off while on the phone with a very chatty client. Yes, balancing his day job and night job wasn't nearly as easy as he liked to think, but he managed well. He still had a job. He still made money. He still helped people.

Although Drake's alter ego had yet to face any serious challenges, he was just happy to be of service. Whether it was restraining an angry drunk threatening to punch the bar owner who kicked him out, drive him home, and get vomit on his cape, or forcing some rebellious kids to sit down and listen to his lecture about the consequences of pick pocketing, it didn't matter. Darkwing Duck was here to help the little people, too.

Not like there wasn't any pay off, either. He'd become friends with an elderly woman he helped cross a busy street everyday. Once she brought him a homemade meal to thank him. Darkwing usually turned down any rewards, but little things like this he was happy to accept. The day after, Drake ate the gift during his lunch break, humming and bouncing at the table. His soulless coworkers were absolutely disgusted.

"Do you think I should change my voice when I'm Darkwing?" Drake asked one day, sitting with Launchpad and sewing up a hole in his cape. "Should my voice be more gruff? Darker? Like I'm gargling on rocks?"

Launchpad tilted his head, thinking. "Hmm... Nah. Well... Maybe a little?"

Drake sighed. "It's just that, Jim never really... disguised..." He trailed off, bowing his head. Launchpad looked away, equally upset. They sat in silence for a few more seconds before Launchpad gave another hint regarding his "surprise" gift: it could be driven-- _but in the air!_

Once a week, Drake would visit Jim Starling's apartment or his store. The latter of which had been foreclosed and shut down recently. In the beginning, some fans would leave flowers and little tokens of respect. But now all the flowers had wilted, blown away, most of the gifts stolen. Drake always kept a candle lit at both the store and apartment--electronic, of course. He attached sticky notes with his phone number on them, hoping maybe one day Jim would ring him up, tell him everything was okay.

That night, Drake had to replace the batteries in the candle at Jim's store. He stood before the glass doors, staring at his reflection, his suit. "I'm doing my best," he said to his glass double, hat clutched to his chest, "and while it may not be much, and sometimes it really is a bit too much, I'm not quitting. I know we had a bit of a fall out, and you probably blame me for... Well, everything. But..." He furrowed his feathery brows, placing his hat neatly back on his head. "I hope to make you proud, Jim. No, _Darkwing Duck_."

Who cared if he wasn't fighting hardcore, deadly criminals or a possibly soon-to-be arch-nemesis.

... Except that soon-to-be arch-nemesis came a little sooner than Darkwing Duck anticipated. And he hadn't really anticipated having one at all.

One humid evening, Darkwing Duck was guarding an alley notorious for gang activity. He heard a rumor a drug deal was going down here later tonight. Well, not on his watch! But Darkwing hadn't been there for long when he was suddenly struck with something very hard upside the head. It made a resounding _tong_ noise when it collided with his skull, suggesting an iron pan of some sort. He immediately passed out.

Darkwing dreamed he was in the middle of a typical caper chase. Some goons who robbed a bank, speeding down the busy freeway in their get-away van. Darkwing pursued on his brand new motorcycle, weaving gracefully and carefully around civilian vehicles. The goons would occasionally shoot at him, but not with bullets. For some reason they were darts. It was a dream; Darkwing didn't exactly have complete creative control. And then his general manager from the office was sitting behind him on his motorcycle, yelling at Darkwing about not meetings quotas or satisfying custom--

"... key, wakey, eggs and toasty!"

Darkwing Duck gasped, jolting awake when he was suddenly splashed with a bucket of cold water. He coughed and snorted, nostrils filled. His vision was blurry; he couldn't make out the brightly colored figure standing in front of him. Darkwing went to move, but... his arms were bound? Above his head? With a rope? Tied to a sturdy old pipe? And why did it stink in here?

"What--who--" Darkwing grumbled, shaking his head. His hat was missing. He tugged at his restraints, the pipe doing little more than groaning.

"Musta hit you a bit too hard, huh?" The voice was... deep, gravelly, but familiar. And morbidly amused. "Sorry, not sorry."

Darkwing's vision cleared, and his blood suddenly went cold. Although the colors were all wrong, the voice, the demeanor--

"Welcome back to the land of the living," Jim Starling chuckled, showing rows of sharp, pointy teeth.

Darkwing blinked twice. He'd pinch himself to make sure this wasn't part of his dream, if his _hands weren't tied to a pipe above his head._ "I... I should say the same to you, Mister Starling," he tittered, and despite the dubious situation and his compromised position, he was genuinely happy and relieved to see the actor.

"Oh, please; there's no need to be so formal," Jim tsked playfully, "call me Negaduck."

Darkwing squinted. "Nega... duck?" He shook his head again. "I've been searching for you for months! We all have! Where have you be--wait, is this... a sewer?" That explained the stench and dim lighting.

"I call it home," Negaduck replied, "at least for now."

Darkwing chose to ignore that comment. "Are you being held captive here, too?" he asked, tugging at the rope. "Is that why you--"

"Boy, you really are dense, aren't you?" Negaduck interjected, rolling his eyes. "To think, someone as dull as a butter knife would take on _my_ mantle..."

"I... don't understand."

"I'm the one who kidnapped you, you knob!" Negaduck snarled, suddenly face to face with the shocked mallard.

Darkwing Duck winced. "But... why?" He frowned, nervous. "Are you still upset about the set incident? I'm sorry, but you were putting everyone in danger! I had to stop you!"

"And you decided to do so by dressing up as Darkwing Duck," Negaduck growled, fingers twitching at his sides. "Couldn't help but try and demean me, huh? A little salt in the wounds, isn't that right?"

"Jim, listen, you're--"

"Jim!" Negaduck snapped, eyes wild. "Is not here anymore! Jim is dead. Good riddance. Not that he was much in life, working some dead beat job selling used furniture." He laughed, relaxing again. "He would thank you for that if he wasn't, you know..." He dragged a finger across his throat, stuck out his tongue and gagged comically.

Darkwing swallowed, his mouth suddenly very dry. "I don't know what's happened to you, J--Negaduck," he said carefully, slowly, "but we can get you help. It's obvious you've been down here a while, and the fumes have probably--"

"You know," Negaduck sighed, producing a knife; Darkwing widened his eyes, watched the older mallard flip the blade up and down, up and down, always catching it by the handle. "I've been observing you the past few weeks. It's good to see that Darkwing Duck has become about as useful as an insane nerd in a Halloween costume doing citizen arrests on losers urinating in public."

"I do what I can," Darkwing explained, frowning, "no matter the crime, big or small, Darkwing Duck takes care of it a--" He didn't get to finish, grunting as Negaduck landed a fist in his stomach, knocking the wind out of him.

"Don't you dare tell me what _Darkwing Duck_ would do!" Negaduck yelled, baring his teeth. "You know nothing about the _real_ Darkwing! You're just a crazed moron who was so obsessed with me, you just had to ruin my life and destroy all the hard work I built up for _years_!"

Darkwing coughed. "No... T-That's not what I-- I wasn't trying to ruin your career, or harm you in--in any--"

Negaduck punched Darkwing in the ribs. Darkwing grit his teeth, recoiling. "If you had any sense or respect, you would have stayed in your comfy little trailer and let me do my job!" he barked. His eyes were manic, as if he weren't looking at Darkwing, but rather through him. He pressed his fist against Darkwing's ribs, harder and harder. "Instead, you just had to steal the spotlight... just had to screw everything up... just had to destroy..."

"I'm... s-sorry..." Darkwing ground out, squirming. "I never meant... for anyone to... get hurt."

Negaduck raised his head, snapping back to reality. "Pardon me. I just remembered why I brought you here," he said, smiling. "It wasn't just to berate you, or punish you for all the damage you've done, but rather... I wanted to thank you, too!"

Darkwing sank back as Negaduck removed his fist. "Thank me? I don't want to offend you, but... this is a s-strange way of showing gratitude."

"All my life, I've played the hero," Negaduck explained, "but I loved it. I loved Darkwing Duck. I wasn't one of those ninny actors who whined and complained about getting typecast. I was born to play the hero, I told myself. But..." Negaduck stroked his beak, looking thoughtful. "There was one time, toward the end of the show's run, where I thought... what would it be like to play a villain? How could I turn Darkwing's virtuosity into something monstrous and cruel? I'd be a force to reckon with; I had everything. The brains, the brawn, the gadgets and tools. I mean, had the show not been axed, I would have gotten to play that part as my evil double. So that begs the question: what if Darkwing, for some reason, turned to the dark side, and instead of saving the world, decided to burn it all to the ground?"

Darkwing shook his head. "Darkwing Duck would never do that. Not in a million years."

"No, not Darkwing," Negaduck said, his wide brim hat shadowing his menacing grin, "not anymore. An agent of chaos. The prince of pain. The saint of sadism." He dramatically pulled his tattered cape across him, crouching and peering over his arm at Darkwing with piercing, wild eyes. "I am the screeching fingernail on the chalkboard of justice! I am the sour ball in the candy jar of goodness! The fiendish, foul fowl of felonious fury! I am... Negaduck!" He threw open his arms, cape dramatically flying in the air; his loud, frightening cackle echoed through the sewer tunnels.

Negaduck waited for a response. Darkwing could only stare. "Oh, c'mon, I worked hard on that intro," he scowled. He reached up, forcing Darkwing's bound hands into weak clapping. "That's better."

Darkwing was mortified, but more than that, he was heartbroken. "No, you... You're not Negaduck! You're Jim Starling! The original Darkwing Duck, hero to all that is good and just!" he exclaimed, panic laced in his voice. "And I would be honored to work alongside you as your partner. We can fight crime-- _together_ \--with you as my mentor, and I your pu..." Darkwing trailed off, jaw slack and eyes bulging.

Negaduck kept the knife buried in Darkwing's shoulder, snickering. "Darkwing Duck didn't need a sidekick. He was his own powerhouse; a partner would have only been a liability. And that's why you fail, Drakey ole boy, you pathetic, lily-livered--" He thrust the knife in deeper, right to the hilt, and Darkwing tried not to scream. "Maybe you do need a sidekick. God knows you can't do anything right. Just like you manipulated that empty-headed flake to turn against me."

Darkwing squeezed his eyes shut, willing back the tears. Blood soaked his coat sleeve, started to drip at his feet. "Please... Jim..." he rasped. "Come to your senses..."

"You still use that idiot, too. He comes to your beck and call whenever you need help. Can't do anything on your own, can you?" Negaduck yanked out the bloodied knife, only to thrust two fingers into the wound instead. Darkwing cried out as he spread his digits, tearing flesh and sinew. "What a complete and utter failure you are. I'd shed a tear for your incompetence, but I'm not one to pity. No--you're not worth pitying." He clawed into the wound with a vicious sneer. "You're just that _worthless_."

Darkwing gasped and went limp as Negaduck pulled back his hand, turning away. "I thought about becoming more of an antihero, you know, before I settled on Negaduck." He casually wiped the blood off his fingers with his cape. "Darkwarrior had a nice ring to it, but after a lot of soul searching and hours of screaming into the void, I made up my mind." He laughed softly, moving back around. "But I don't think you're good enough to have me as your arch-nem--"

Darkwing clocked Negaduck in the bill, knocking back the deranged mallard. He pounced on Negaduck, straddling his hips. "I'm sorry. I don't want to do this," Darkwing said, using one hand to pin Jim's hands above his head. "But you leave me no--"

Negaduck snarled, bucking hard enough to knock Darkwing off. Darkwing rolled away, ignoring the pulsating pain in his wounded shoulder. Negaduck jumped to his feet, marching over to the so-called hero. Darkwing stumbled onto his knees; Negaduck kicked him in the stomach, knocking him back over. 

"You insufferable yuppie!" Negaduck shouted, repeatedly kicking Darkwing in the ribs. "I wasn't done talking! You don't interrupt an actor when he's monologuing, dipstick!"

Darkwing grabbed Negaduck's ankle, yanked him down on the ground. "I'm... gonna get you help," he insisted, "you're not in your right mind."

Negaduck suddenly spotted the watch just peeking out from Darkwing's sleeve. There was a tiny blade protruding from the side. He guffawed. "Ah, yes! The Blade Cutter! You know, I only used that little gizmo in two episodes before the writers forgot all about it." He thrust his free foot into Darkwing's face, shoving him away. 

Negaduck flipped back onto his feet, snatched up Darkwing's good arm and twisted it behind him. Darkwing struggled, blood spilling from his wound and splashing across the dirty sewer floor. "And if you want to be a proper hero, you need to know when to use force if necessary." He plucked the watch from Darkwing's wrist, throwing it in the running stream of gray water. "You think I'm some sort of fragile, broken damsel in distress? Didn't wanna be too rough with me, huh? _Please_."

Darkwing said nothing.

" _Now_ you choose to shut your gob?" Negaduck barked. He kneed Darkwing in the back, letting him drop to the ground. He kicked his captive onto his back; half of the purple suit was stained in blood, a button torn off. Negaduck looked over Darkwing, arms akimbo and snorting with disgust. "Amateurs. It's just like I said--one little scratch," he swiped his blade across Darkwing's face, cutting a clean gash through his bill, "and you're down for the count. You really didn't think this through, did you, kid?"

Darkwing growled, eyes watering. The knife had taken a chunk out the front of his beak, curving up toward his nostrils. The pain was white hot, and he felt bile rise in his throat.

"Hey ey ey! Don't pass out on me now, Dorkwing. You're suppose to be tougher than that. I ain't done with you yet, so die on your own time."

Negaduck hauled Darkwing back onto his feet. Darkwing swung a fist, still blinded by pain, missing; Negaduck grabbed it, and all too easily tied both hands back up with the dangling rope. "Now, are we done playing? Are you ready to be a good duckling and listen to your elders?" Negaduck chided, flicking the panting hero hard between the eyes. "Good. Because what I'm about to tell you--and I'm going to need you not to interrupt me, this time--is very important."

Darkwing scowled, wet rings in his mask around his eyes. "You won't g-get away with this, you know. Whatever it--"

Negaduck clamped a hand around Darkwing's beak, squeezing. "Jim Starling's dead, but Drake Mallard's alive and kicking, right?" He forcefully rocked Darkwing's head up and down. "And, from what I've gathered, nobody suspects you of being Darkwing Duck. As you know, I'm a skilled actor--with just a little make-up, I could easily play the role of mild-mannered, insipid, goody-two-shoes Drakey boy. I've been practicing, you know? And I've been told I practically become one with my characters." He cleared his throat, then smiled sweetly. "Besides, it's not hard to fool people when they barely take notice of you in the first place!" Negaduck laughed, his voice and posture nearly identical to Drake's.

Darkwing was absolutely horrified. He needed to think, needed to focus; his arm was numb and tingling from the wound, he'd lost too much blood, and his beak was throbbing in Negaduck's vice grip. Still, Launchpad had gotten to Jim once, surely Darkwing Duck could, too. He just... had to reach out...

"Now," Negaduck said, puffing out his chest, "that snooty tart Alistair Boorswan is shooting scenes for his upcoming movie--Dunjerk or somethin', I dunno--in St. Canard. I've heard it's a very lovely place, especially if you're looking for a high crime rate." He chortled. "It shouldn't be hard getting to him; as an actor, I can just waltz on set. And despite our little blunder, I'm sure Alistair would be willing to spare a minute or two with me. It was I, Drake Mallard, who ended up saving his life from that washed-up loser Jim, remember?"

Negaduck yanked Darkwing over, practically smashing his face against his, still holding him by the bill. "Once I've got Alistair alone, made him feel all nice and cozy, Drake Mallard will reveal the true insanity behind his obsession. Not only did I deliberately sabotage the film because I was jealous of my predecessor, I'm still pretty peeved with his piss-poor directing. All that yapping, ordering me around while he sat on his feathered fanny--grated my nerves. And that's when I'll cut out his flapping, noisy tongue!"

Darkwing's eyes widened. He thrashed and struggled while Negaduck laughed maniacally. "I'll make sure to hide his body just long enough for me to finish enacting the rest of my plan. It's not just Alistair I'm after--oh no. It's that tasteless producer, Scrooge McDuck, the meddling kid who wanted to turn my movie into a joke, and last, but certainly not least, that annoying meat-head who betrayed me!"

Darkwing's heart was beating fast, his head suddenly very light. No, no--he shook and writhed, tried to pry his beak out of Negaduck's hand--

"Your sidekick and number one fan, Launchpa--!"

Darkwing finally broke free, screaming, "No! You're insane!"

"I'm not insane," Negaduck barked, "Drake Mallard's the one who's insane!" He threw his head back with victorious laughter. "I'll film it all to show you; the looks of betrayal on their faces when they realize sweet innocent Drake Mallard was a bloodthirsty maniac the whole time. Assuming, you know, you don't die from blood loss or sepsis 'cause of those nasty wounds of yours beforehand. Hey, maybe I'll swing by that pretty actress's house, the one who was going to play Darkwing's love interest in the film. You idiots--everyone knows Darkwing's one and only true love is the city of St. Ca--"

"I won't"--and with all his dwindling strength, Darkwing kicked Negaduck between the legs--"let you do this, Jim!"

Negaduck doubled over, hacking. He glowered up at Darkwing, his eyes burning. "You..." He threw himself forward, decking Darkwing across the face. "I wasn't finished explaining my dastardly master plan!"

A tooth bounced off the slimy cement and into the water. Darkwing spit out a mouthful of blood.

"I _was_ going to kill you after I finished the job, dice and slice you up into a million little pieces and let the vermin down here feast on your remains," Negaduck shouted, grabbing Darkwing by the jacket and shaking him hard enough to scramble his brains. "But now I'm tempted to let you live! Rip out your vocal cords, break your fingers, and bash yer head in just right so you won't be able to convince the police you weren't guilty of those horrendous crimes when I throw your ass right on their front lawn!"

"This won't change anything, Jim," Darkwing grunted, "you'll only make things worse for yourself."

"For me? Or for you? Or, maybe, for Darkwing Duck?" Negaduck snickered. "Now!" He stepped back, concentrating. "What else did I have to tell you..." He started counting off on his fingers, mumbling, "I wanted to thank you for this new lease on life... Beat you within an inch of _your_ life for my new lease on life... Tell you how I'm going to destroy everything and everyone you love... Oh, right!" Negaduck snapped his fingers, smiling gleefully.

Darkwing chanced a look down the tunnel, swallowing. He turned back at Negaduck, trying not to look afraid despite the fact he was shaking. "Jim. You need help. Let me get you help."

Negaduck ignored him, knife back in his hand. "Tell me, super fan extraordinaire: season four, episode twelve--the lost episode. It was available only on a few limited edition DVD sets and a private screening at the eighth annual Darkwing Duck convention. What was the title?"

Darkwing automatically blurted, "'The Cow Who Laughs.'" He cursed.

"That's right!" Negaduck clapped. "We were going to introduce a new villain to the show. Just a couple episodes. An ex-thug who snitched on her boss, and as a result, got her bovine butt kicked and face completely mutilated. After being force fed toxic cud, she became an insane, radioactive mutant criminal called the Mad Cow. Now, if memory serves me right," he mumbled, scratching under his bill with the smooth side of the blade, "producers deemed it too scary for the younger audience. Not kid-friendly enough. So the episode went unaired. Surely, though, someone as obsessed with the show as you are has seen the episode, and remembers what Mad Cow looked like, yes?"

Darkwing kept his mouth shut. He wasn't going to play this game. He glanced down the tunnel again, too quick for Negaduck to notice.

"Of all the ugly scars the thugs gave Mad Cow," Negaduck said, slowly approaching Darkwing. "The worst had to be that frightening, hollow cheshire grin."

Darkwing reeled back. He didn't get far; Negaduck wrapped a hand around his throat, forcibly thrusting the knife inside Darkwing's mouth. He pressed it against one corner, just enough to pierce the flesh and draw a bead of blood. "I remember her dialogue word for word; in a scene where she's captured Darkwing Duck, much like now, in fact, Mad Cow explains how she got her permanent, grim grin. 'Boss thought I turned on him 'cause I wasn't happy with my job. Now I'll always work with a smile on my face.'" He paused to laugh, a drawn out, terrible noise. "Now how's _that_ for dark and gritty?"

Darkwing searched Negaduck's eyes, looking for anything--any remnant of sanity or mercy. There was only madness and shadows. At that moment, Drake wasn't afraid anymore, just... sad. His heart in pieces. Not only for the mallard he once idolized and looked up to, who helped him find his inner strength and grow as a person, but the loss of someone who'd lost everything, driven into hatred, malice, and revenge. The fact an entire set collapsed on top of him surely didn't help either.

But that was all he needed, because Negaduck was no longer smiling, and there was a very dim light in his eyes. Not manic, but clear. The knife inched away, and Darkwing wanted to risk injury to talk Negaduck down. He'd taken the first step; just a little more gentle coaxing--

Negaduck grinned. "Gotcha!"

Darkwing just barely managed to turn his head away before the knife could slash right through his cheek, instead only taking two or so inches. He wanted to scream, but blood spilled down his throat and he choked. All the while Negaduck cackled, admiring his handiwork.

"Oh, you shoulda seen your face!" Negaduck howled, slapping his knee. "Actually, you should see it _now_." He removed the knife, flicked it twice to remove some of the blood. He held it to Darkwing's face; Darkwing reluctantly glanced back, catching a glimpse of the fresh cut by his mouth, turning the white feathers red.

"Well, I think that about covers everything," Negaduck said. "But now I've got a boat to catch. Wonder if I can smuggle my chainsaw on board..." He roughly pat Darkwing on his wounded shoulder. "Assuming you survive, I'll see you later. In the meantime, hang in there!" He burst into more boisterous cackling, spitting and coughing. "H-Hang in--ha ha! Oooh, I'm a caution." 

Negaduck wiped a tear from his eye, sniffed and brushed off his jacket. "I'll see you soon, Drakey; either here or at your funeral. Might have to go with an empty casket, though. Too-da-loo, idiot!" Negaduck picked up Darkwing's discarded hat, stuffed it back on his head; with he wink, he swaggered off down the tunnel, his laughter fading until there was only the belching of the bubbling stream of sewer water.

Darkwing inhaled, exhaled. Focused on evening his breathing. He was tired, could barely keep his eyes open. Shock from blood loss was settling in. He felt cold. He didn't have much longer before he'd pass out--maybe fifteen more minutes--and then...

How could everything have gone so wrong? If Drake knew becoming Darkwing Duck would cause Jim Starling to lose his mind, to plot all these awful things, he would have never donned the cape. In the television show, things were always so easy and clean cut. Villains were evil, heroes were good; there was no moral gray. Not like in Alistair's script. 

And it was then that Drake realized--maybe he wasn't meant for this job, especially if he hadn't really, truly taken into consideration reality wasn't so neatly black and white.

No, not right now. Think of something else. He was slipping, feet stumbling beneath him. It had to be the sewer keeping Launchpad. Or maybe he was on the job. He'd be found sooner or later, but it'd be better if he was alive when--

"DW!"

Darkwing felt a sudden rush of adrenaline, jerking in his bindings. He raised his heavy head, blinking against the bright light. 

Launchpad lowered the flashlight and quickly ran over to the beaten duck, face aghast. "I'm so sorry I took so-- The sewers were messin' with the signal-- I couldn't get a good readin' until-- W-What happened to you?" He went to cutting Darkwing free from the ropes.

Darkwing groaned, collapsing in Launchpad's arms. "Jim... alive," he croaked, licking his torn beak, "insane... going after... Alistair. Notify... police. Taking a boat... St. Canard."

Launchpad nodded frantically. "Wait, did you say Jim?" He eyed Darkwing's wounds--a gash in his shoulder, another along his beak, a third in his cheek, giving him a twisted, crooked smile. "He... couldn't have. W-Why would he do this?"

Darkwing pawed at the first aid kit on Launchpad's hip. Launchpad immediately opened it, removing a large bandage. "Lost... too much blood," Darkwing wheezed. He pressed the bandage to his cheek, grimacing.

"Let's get you help," Launchpad said. He picked Darkwing up, cradling him against his chest. "Just hang in there, DW! It won't take long, I promise! I'll drive super fast!"

Even as Darkwing struggled to remain conscious, trembling from pain, he couldn't help but think it might be Launchpad's driving that would finish him off.

Launchpad laid Darkwing out in the passenger's seat of the car, barreling inside. The engine roared as he slammed on the accelerator, ripping out of the alley like a bat outta Hell. "It's a good thing I gave you the Button Buzzer. I wouldn't have found y-- Wait, where is it?" He nodded at the missing button tracker on Darkwing's jacket.

Darkwing coughed. "... I swallowed it."

\---

Jim Starling had been in the movie business for way too long. Despite knowing all the stereotypes, he still gave his entire master plan away to the hero. While both Duckburg and St. Canard police had been notified, searching the docks and incoming and outgoing boats, Negaduck never turned up. And in the following weeks, nor did Alistair have any run in with the insane mallard--Jim or a phony Drake.

Though maybe... this is what Negaduck wanted the entire time.

But Darkwing Duck knew Negaduck was in St. Canard. Call it a hunch as his arch-nemesis.

\---

Hammerhead grunted as he was thrown back into his henchman's arms, a large lump forming on top of his head. He shoved Hoof and Mouth away, swaying back onto his feet. He touched the bump, wincing painfully. "You damn brat!" Hammerhead snarled, angrily stamping a hoof.

The little girl stood her ground, holding up her broken hockey stick. Her tattered clothes were dirty, mud caked on her cheeks and in her unruly red hair. "I ain't afraid of you!" she spat. "What kinda loser attacks a little kid?"

Hammerhead snorted out clouds of steam. "Taurus said t'bring you back alive," he growled, "but he didn't say nothin' about you needin' all your bones unbroken."

"Wow," the girl scoffed, "you're kinda stupid, ain'tcha?"

"Get 'er, boss!" Mouth shouted, pointing at the kid.

Hoof whooped. "Yeah! Make the baby cry!"

Hammerhead got into position, head lowered, horns at the ready. The girl stepped back, raised her hockey stick. Hammerhead screamed. The girl screamed. Hammerhead sprinted forward, only to stop and stumble back when large clouds of purple smoke exploded around him.

"I am the terror that flaps in the night..."

Mouth squeaked as he was abruptly thrown into a dumpster, lid slamming shut on his head.

"I am the righteous bleach cleaning up the muck of crime..."

Hoof was pulled up into the air, disappearing.

Hammerhead gulped. "What the..." He took a step back, only to bump into something behind him.

"I am... Darkwing Duck!"

Hammerhead whipped around, just in time to see Darkwing Duck punch him right between the eyes. Hammerhead shrieked and fell back, skidding on the ground.

The little girl watched, beak hanging open.

"To harm a child is nothing short of insidious and repulsive," Darkwing Duck snapped, pouncing on the ram. He picked him up by the front of his shirt, lifting Hammerhead off the ground. Hammerhead's teeth chattered in fear, a second lump on his head. "I'd sooner break your fingers before letting you touch her!"

"I--I'm just followin' orders!" Hammerhead whimpered. "Honest! I didn't wanna hurt the kid!"

"Let me guess," Darkwing snorted, "Taurus Bulba needs her for something."

Hammerhead blanched. "Y-Yeah, but-- How'd you know?"

"I know you're after the late Professor Waddlemeyer's Ramrod device. Your boss intends to use it for nefarious purposes," Darkwing scowled. He shook Hammerhead. "Now tell me what he's planning!"

Hammerhead suddenly relaxed, sneering. "You ain't gonna get nothin' out of me, Dipwing."

Darkwing Duck could hear the thug approaching, turning to confront Mouth. Mouth screamed as he leaped into the air, steel pipe in hand. Before he could bring it down on Darkwing's skull, before Darkwing could shoot him with his gas gun, the young girl jumped up beside Mouth, smacking him across the face with her hockey stick. Mouth grunted and fell into a pile of garbage bags, cross-eyed and moaning.

Hammerhead managed to wrench himself free, quickly taking off down the alley. He easily jumped over the tall steel fence and disappeared.

Darkwing Duck growled but stayed put.

"Aren't ya gonna go after him?"

Darkwing turned back to the child. She stared up at him with wide, starry eyes. "I slipped a tracker on him earlier," Darkwing explained, wiping at his scarred beak. "Just in case our friend here decides to bite his tongue." He nodded at the half-conscious Mouth.

The girl gulped. "It... really is you. Darkwing Duck! The masked mallard of justice! St. Canard's savior!" she exclaimed.

Darkwing smiled, though the old cut at the corner of his mouth made it look lopsided. "More or less, yes," he said softly. "And you're Gosalyn Waddlemeyer."

Gosalyn gasped, beaming. "You... know my name!"

"I also know you ran away from the orphanage almost two weeks ago, and they've been looking for you ever since," Darkwing explained, tapping a foot.

Gosalyn stuck out her tongue. "It's not like they wanted me. They said I was a troublemaker and that no one would adopt a rowdy brat."

"I'm not so sure about that," Darkwing said, kneeling before the kid, "it sounds like you've got quite a lot of spirit. You stood your ground against those bad guys, even though you were--"

Darkwing flinched when Gosalyn suddenly rushed over, throwing her arms around the masked mallard in a hug. She buried her face into his jacket, shaking. Darkwing smiled, patting her back. "It's okay. You're safe now, Gosalyn."

"Grandpa always said... I had lotsa spirit..." Gosalyn sniffed. "You're the only one, since he..."

"Hey," Darkwing said, smoothing back her greasy hair, "how about we get you someplace nice and warm? You can eat, have a bath. Sleep in an actual bed--"

"M'not goin' back to the orphanage!" Gosalyn insisted, pushing away and defiantly folding her arms.

Darkwing chuckled. "You don't have to. At least, not tonight. I'll take you back to my place, how does that sound?"

Gosalyn squeaked. "Your _hideout_!?"

Darkwing nodded. "I'll even give you a ride on my bike." He looked around the alley, squinting. "... When it gets here. Hopefully soon."

"I get to ride on Darkwing Duck's bike!" Gosalyn cheered, bouncing.

Darkwing held Mouth down, cuffing his hands behind his back. "On one condition," he said, wagging a finger back at the girl, "you have to wear a helmet."

Gosalyn rolled her eyes. "Well, duh! I'm not stupid."

"Sorry I'm late, DW! There was traffic--and I kinda crashed into some guy's fence and got bitten by his six dogs. Don't worry! We all got our shots."

Gosalyn and Darkwing turned around. Launchpad dismounted the purple and black Ratcatcher, its bright headlights cutting through the darkness. "Didja get the bad g--oh! Hey!" He smiled, waving at Gosalyn. "You're Gosalyn, right? You okay? Did those jerks hurt you?"

"Gosalyn," Darkwing said, placing a hand on the girl's head, "this is my partner, Launchpad."

Gosalyn swooned at the sight of the bike. "Keen gear!" She darted over to Launchpad, running her dirty hands along the Ratcatcher's chassis. "This is so flippin' cool!" She smiled up at the large bird. "Heya, Launchpad. And yeah, what Darkwing said. M' Gosalyn. Gosalyn Waddlemeyer."

"Well, Gosalyn," Launchpad said, squatting and holding out a hand, "it's nice t'meet ya!"

Gosalyn took Launchpad's hand, giving it a hard squeeze and firm shake.

Launchpad winced. "Ou!" he laughed. "Quite a grip ya got there, Gos."

"Gosalyn will be spending the night with us, Launchpad," Darkwing explained, approaching the bike with Mouth in tow. He threw the slumbering crook over the Ratcatcher. "Take her back to base. I need to handle the other goon first. I'll join up later."

"No problem, DW," Launchpad said, giving a thumbs up. He deposited a spare helmet on Gosalyn's head. "You take the side car, kid!"

"Heck yeah!" Gosalyn squealed, scrambling into the cabbie.

"Put your seatbelt on tight," Darkwing said, buckling Gosalyn's helmet into place.

Gosalyn smiled up at Darkwing, her large eyes glowing. "Thanks... Darkwing Duck."

Darkwing's heart skipped a beat. "I'll see you later," he said, knocking playfully on her helmet. He turned back to Launchpad, eyes narrowed into slits. "Drive. Slowly. Okay?"

Launchpad tittered, embarrassed. "I promise, DW. Gos's safe with me!"

Darkwing watched as Launchpad drove off, Gosalyn loudly cheering and waving her arms in the air. Once they were gone, he used his grappling gun to climb back on the roof where he'd thrown Hoof. The thug was gone; must have escaped while Darkwing was dealing with Hammerhead.

Darkwing heard the loud ringing of a nearby clock tower. It was midnight. He turned back around; the view of St. Canard was quite breathtaking from up here. The towering skyscrapers, the bustling streets and winding freeways, the Audubon Bay Bridge stretched over the glowing, moonlit waters. And, of course, the tower which made up Darkwing Duck's hideout.

The fictional St. Canard was slightly smaller than the real St. Canard, but no less infested with criminals. Among them, the new Fearsome Five, led by the deranged--

No, not right now. Drake was just happy to admire the view of his beautiful city.

**Author's Note:**

> The scars were just something for me. I actually like grim and gritty reboots, okay. :P (Drake hides his scars with some make-up and spirit gum in civilian mode, s'all good.)


End file.
